Caramel Latte
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: Sam, using some typical stupidly reckless Winchester tactic, pulls Dean out of Purgatory. How doesn't matter; this is about what happens later, when Dean starts feeling a little insecure about his big brother position. Now AU. Kind of.


**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Also, not happening.

**Author's Note: **I wrote this a while ago but (because of what a friend describes as hiatus lethargy) I didn't post it, and of course after the Comic Con news it's AU, but I thought I'd post it anyway.

Anyone following _Fear No More_, the next chapter _will _be up over the weekend.

Many thanks to Cheryl for the beta help, and to SandyDee84 for pushing me not to let this languish on my hard drive. ;-)

**Summary:** Sam, using some typical stupidly reckless Winchester tactic, pulls Dean out of Purgatory. How doesn't matter; this is about what happens later, when Dean starts feeling a little insecure about his big brother position.

* * *

**Caramel Latte**

Sam and I had had a fight over how he nearly got himself killed getting out of Purgatory. (No, I'm not telling that part of it… you'll have to hear that story from Sam. I can't even _think _about it. Can you _believe_ the moron brought me back to a world that was about half a second away from not having my little brother in it and imagined that I would somehow be _pleased _with him? Yeah, neither can I. It's like he's never even _met _me.)

So we'd had a fight, and he was still sulking about it two days later. Not full-fledged sulking, because we were still staying at Sheriff Mills' place. (He'd been using it as a base while he was figuring it all out, and then after he sprung me we stayed a few days more so he could help her sort out some Satanic cabal in Sioux Falls – not _real _Satanists, thankfully, and I think they abandoned their pentacles in a hurry when Sam went to them and said, "You're followers of Satan, are you? Well, _I'm _the one who knows where he _lives_.") Sam doesn't really sulk around strangers. But he was bitchfacing enough to let me know he was upset.

And maybe a little hurt. (Sam, I mean, not the pentacle people. The pentacle people were just terrified.)

And, well, I was sorry. (Again, for Sam.) Really. I knew why the kid had done what he'd done – hell, _I _would've done the same thing – and although _nothing_ made it OK for him to almost _die _(_No_, moron, 'saving my big brother' is _not _a valid excuse! There is no such thing as a valid excuse for you almost dying.) I should probably have gone easy on him. Maybe actually hugged him _back_ before I started yelling at him.

Of course Sam hadn't left the house while I'd been recovering – of _course_ – and we were both going stir-crazy.

So, once I could finally walk, I decided to make a trip into town.

I didn't tell Sam I was going, because he'd have insisted on going with me and the point of bringing Sam an apology-latte is that I _bring _him the apology-latte. If he's with me when I get it, it doesn't count.

But because this isn't a story of how I got Sam his latte and he stopped being a bitch, you know it's not going to be that simple. Of _course_ I got stopped by a cop and accused of breaking the speed limit. (I mean, I was just going, like, twenty over the limit. That shouldn't even count. Even Samdoes twenty over the limit sometimes.)

I tried to explain to the cop that you can't arrest people for doing something even _Sam _does, I mean, come _on_. But he scowled at me and insisted on wasting an hour. By the time he let me go, Rita's (the diner I'd been planning to go to) was closed. I was thinking about looking for another one, and then Sam called, and he sounded like he was going to rip me a new one if I didn't get back _immediately_. I wasn't scared, obviously (unlike the pentacle people), because maybe Sam's big but he's _Sam_. I didn't want to make the kid worry, though, so I went back.

"Where the hell were you?" he demanded as soon as I walked in the door. "And what did you think you were doing, disappearing like that?"

"I needed some fresh air," I said defensively. I knew he was right and I shouldn't have gone alone, but… you know. I had to bring him a latte.

"So you couldn't just _tell _me? You shouldn't be driving yet, Dean!"

"I needed to go alone," I explained.

Of course Sam misunderstood that, because that's what Sam _does_, and of _course _he looked like a kicked puppy, because that's what Sam does a hell of a lot more.

I was about to explain, but then Jodie came back.

"Hey, boys," she said cheerfully. "How are you feeling, Dean?"

"Fine," I said, and Sam rolled his eyes (he's a bitch) without looking at me (he was pissed).

Jodie shook her head and put a takeout bag on the table. "I passed Charlie's on my way home," she said. "I got you one of those lattes you like, Sam." She took the cup out and handed it to Sam. Sam's frown vanished and he dimpled at her.

It was official, I decided, as Jodie handed me my normal-person coffee and Sam took his latte to the kitchen table where he could sip it and play with his laptop and ignore me like he thought I'd gone out of my way to hurt him (he probably did). The universe couldn't _possibly_ hate me more.

I tried to get close enough to Sam to accidentally bump his shoulder or mess up his hair, but the difference between a cramped motel room and Jodie Mills' house is that you can't _accidentally_ squeeze your little brother's shoulder in Jodie Mills' house without Jodie Mills noticing. Then at night she asked Sam to help her with something involving money being embezzled and the town bank's computer systems, and I tried to stay up till they were done so I could talk to Sam in the privacy of the guest room but I was just too tired.

* * *

When I woke up it was morning.

After Jodie left, I tried to say something, but it was – well, difficult. Sam and I didn't do the _talking_ thing, and too much time had passed between my going to town and now for it to be anything other than a chick-flick moment.

No, this called for drastic action.

"I'm going to Sioux Falls," I told Sam, figuring that I could just leave him at the library while I went to a diner.

Sam didn't offer to go with me.

That was awesome, because it fit right into my plan. (Shut up, Sam. I was _so _not upset about that.) I got in my baby and drove. (I know you are, kiddo. I'm sorry, too.)

This time I was careful to keep the needle just under the limit.

I found Charlie's. (I'd never been there before, but Jodie had said Sam liked it. And, fine, it was _ludicrous_ to think Jodie knew more about Sam's preferences than I did, but Sioux Falls was _her _town so she probably knew where to get the kind of girly food Sam ate.)

"Salad," I explained to the waitress, taking a moment to think about how awesome it was to sit in a diner and order food without having to worry about whether it was full of Leviathan goo. "Whatever has lots of green stuff and – you know, iron and Vitamin B12 and all that crap."

She raised her eyebrows. "Wouldn't have taken you for the B12 type."

"Oh, not for me. For my little brother."

"Your little… Oh! You must be Sam Smith's brother."

"You know him?"

"He's been in here a couple of times with Sheriff Mills. He seemed a little down."

_Well, obviously. He was scared and he didn't have me to cheer him up._

I grinned. "Yeah, I thought some of that rabbit food he likes might make him feel better."

"Of course… Don't worry, I know just the one he likes best. Let me handle this."

Seriously, what was _with _all the women of Sioux Falls trying to tell me what Sam liked? Didn't they _get _what 'big brother' meant?

Anyway, the waitress came back in a few minutes with the hamburger I'd ordered for myself and a clear plastic box full of cabbage. (Yeah, yeah. Lettuce, cabbage, same difference. It's green and tasteless. Bitch.)

I ate the hamburger on the drive.

It started raining while I was going back, so by the time I parked behind Jodie's house the dirt ground was muddy and slippery. That, plus I still didn't have my reflexes back 100% and the ankle that had been sprained (that's why Sam had to carry me when we – but that's another story, I am _not _getting into it now) still wasn't completely steady.

I'm sure you can guess what happened. I went down on my ass and dropped the box. Even _I _couldn't expect Sam to eat muddy cabbage.

I left it where it was and trudged into the house.

I fully expected to get chewed out about my filthy clothes and how I was dripping water on the floor when I went inside, but the kid's never predictable. He took one look at me and then he was all over me like a mother hen.

"Dean! God, what happened? Are you OK?"

All of a sudden the room was full of dust, and it was making my eyes sting, so I shut them and rested my head on Sam's shoulder. Because, you know, Sam's such a girl that if there's anything in the world that isn't dusty, it's going to be his shirt.

"Dean?"

I let Sam hustle me into the bathroom and run the hot water, but I drew the line at letting him help me shower. Sam waited outside, calling my name anxiously every minute and a half like he was afraid I'd faint or something. When I was done, I _did _let him settle me on the living room couch with a mug of hot chocolate (I _know_, and normally I hate the stuff, but when Sam's feeling sorry for me he puts _marshmallows_ in it, and hot chocolate's kind of awesome when it's got marshmallows) and the TV remote. He joined me after a few minutes, sat at the other end of the couch and let me put my feet in his lap (I had to elevate my ankle!) and it felt like maybe the salad would be unnecessary.

I found _Dawn of the Dead_ running on one of the channels, and Sam and I had an awesome time discussing how those guys wouldn't have lasted five minutes against _real _zombies.

And then Jodie called.

Sam put the TV on mute and put his phone on speaker.

Jodie didn't say much – just that she'd be back soon and she had another file she needed Sam's help with. I snickered – Sam on the side of the cops, I could make fun of him about that for _years_ – but before I could say anything, Jodie added, "You want me to pick you up some salad on the way back, Sam? You haven't had your fix for _days_."

At least she hadn't called him Sammy, I reflected bleakly.

I couldn't muster much enthusiasm for the movie after that. Sam figured out (obviously) that something was wrong, but he didn't know what, and I could hardly tell him. (Come on, _I'm upset because nobody other than me is allowed to get you salad and lattes_ would sound stupid.)

Of course he wouldn't let it go, so it ended in another argument. I called him a nosy little bitch and he said he wouldn't have to be nosy if I weren't always overcompensating, so by the time Jodie came home we were in another oppressive silence.

Sam, to give him his due, _did _try to talk to me after dinner. Normally I would've calmed down by then, but the sight of him smiling over the Caesar salad Jodie brought him had infuriated me more. It wasn't _Sam's_ fault, of course – at least, I tried to tell myself that – but it didn't make a difference. I was pissed, and when he tried to settle it I snapped at him, and so we were back to Square One.

* * *

Sam _didn't _try the next morning. He brought me my meds and a glass of water, but he didn't make more conversation than he absolutely had to.

It was Saturday, so Jodie was home.

I went to Sioux Falls. I gave both Rita's and Charlie's a miss, because it was clear that all the purveyors of food in the town were cursed. (Two misses in two days just can't _happen _to Dean Winchester.) I went to Tom Harding instead.

So Tom Harding was – well, not a hunter, but he'd been an acquaintance of Bobby's. He knew about the job. He had a rare books shop, and whenever he got anything interesting or unusual, he gave Bobby the right of first refusal – a right that had now passed on to Sam. Harding knew the kid – not as well as I did, obviously, but fairly well. I was pretty sure he'd be able to help me pick out a book Sam would like.

"So you and the kid had a fight?" he asked, sounding amused, when I explained that I wanted a present for my brother. I glared at him, and he shrugged. "Well, it's not Sam's birthday – least I don't think so. And Sam was down here a few days ago to pick up that new alchemy codex, or rather that _old _alchemy codex, so he couldn't have sent you to get that. The only other explanation is that you and the kid had a fight and you want to get him something to make up for it."

"Yeah, fine," I muttered. "You have anything?"

"That Sam would like?" Harding slid out from behind the counter and went to the shelves. "Well… Don't think he'd want a first edition of _Emma_, I have a lovely one here. Or… Hmmm… _Faust_?"

"No," I said firmly.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot you boys had that thing about dealing with the devil. Umm… Let's see… How about _The Outsiders_? I have – hang on – yeah, here it is." He pulled a decrepit-looking book off a shelf and held it up like it was the Holy Grail. (No, Sam, I _don't_ think the Holy Grail is real… Because I don't freaking _want _it to be, because if it _is_ then some loser with wings or a scythe is going to turn up and tell us we have to find it to save the world.) "1967. First edition. You want it?"

I really wasn't sure, because it barely even looked like a _book_. I wasn't even sure it would have all the pages. But Sam had liked _The Outsiders _as a kid, I remembered, so I took it.

I know what you're thinking, and, no, the next part of the story _isn't_ that something horrible happened to the book. (Thank God, or I'd never have heard the end of it from Sam if he'd ever found out.) The universe screwed me over in a _completely _different way.

I left the book in the car when I got back, figuring I'd find an excuse to get Sam outside later and give it to him.

Jodie and Sam were in the kitchen. Jodie was cutting open a small carton with a FedEx sticker on it.

"They don't normally deliver on weekends," she explained in answer to my questioning glance. "But I know the man who runs the office here – he did it as a favour to me."

"What did you need that was so urgent?" Sam asked.

"Well, you said you were leaving on Monday, and since you boys are so terrible at staying in touch…" She tore off the cardboard. "Here. I thought you might like these… You know, as a thank you for everything you helped me with while you were here. Especially the thing with Viv."

(The thing with Viv? Yeah, _apparently_ my genius brother thought it would be a good idea to take down a witch by himself while I was still in Purgatory and he was awaiting the delivery of one of the items he needed to get me out. And, yes, of _course _I chewed him out about it when I found out. Doing the odd salt-and-burn would've been bad enough, but going after a _witch_? The idiot kid is lucky to be alive.)

At the time, I didn't know what the thing with Viv was. Sam obviously knew he'd get in trouble over it, so when I asked him he flushed and muttered something incomprehensible.

Before I could press the matter, Jodie was shaking a stack – a freaking _stack_ – of books free of their wrapping and thrusting them into Sam's hands, waving aside his shocked protests.

"No, really, Sam," she said. "It's the least I can do. And I _did _promise to get you something nice if you stopped working on your Purgatory spell long enough to sleep and eat. So here it is. I always keep my side of a bargain."

Sam stammered his thanks.

I didn't know what to do. I mean, she'd just given Sam the geek equivalent of the keys to the Impala. I, on the other hand, had one tattered book with the back cover missing. (Yes, I _know _you would have liked anything I got you, Sam, but I was on painkillers. Yes, of _course _Tylenol counts.)

I didn't bother to check what Jodie had got for him. I didn't give him _The Outsiders_, either.

Later, that night, even the sound of Sam's relaxed breathing from a few feet away wasn't enough to lull me to sleep. It wasn't just about an olive branch anymore – hell, we weren't even fighting anymore. _Now _it was about Jodie freaking Mills making Sam think she could take better care of him than I could.

Yeah, I realize it's ridiculous to talk about 'taking care' of Sam when Sam's an adult and a totally badass hunter (give him a couple of years, I'm sure he'll be as badass as Dad). But I've done it all my life and it's not like I can stop now.

And the thing was that I'd always given Sam everything I could. It wasn't a lot, because it depended on how much I could hustle and how much we had to spend replacing clothes and restocking the first-aid kit and buying ammo. And then there are gasprices, which are kind of important when your home is a car. So, you know, not always a lot of spare cash, and there's only so much you can charge to fake credit cards.

But Jodie – and maybe that was what had been bothering me most – had given Sam a place to stay, to stay _put_ for a few weeks, to have diner waitresses who knew what he liked and owners of bookstores who knew his birthday. Well, maybe Tom Harding was down to Bobby more than Jodie, but you know what I mean. And – I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me at all – she'd given him a stack of shiny books, so new you could smell the ink, when all I had for him was a used copy of a book he'd already read.

I reached across the space between the beds to squeeze Sam's shoulder.

If anyone else had done that, Sam would've been awake and throwing punches. With me, he mumbled something that sounded vaguely like my name and snuggled deeper into his pillow.

_Precisely_, I thought smugly, rubbing Sam's back. _I'd like to see freaking _Jodie_ come in and poke at the kid without waking him._

Maybe the problem was that _all_ the stores in Sioux Falls were cursed, not just the diners. Maybe I needed to make Sam's latte in Jodie's kitchen.

* * *

So I managed to get up early the next morning. (And waking up before Insomnia Boy? That takes some _serious _willpower.) I went down to the kitchen, found the coffee and the milk and the coffee maker, and got started.

Yeah, you know the thing about coffee makers? They don't – freaking – _work_. Not the way you expect them to, not _when _you expect them to. I was having visions of making a perfect latte, I'd even gotten as far as wondering if Jodie had caramel and cinnamon and Sam's other girly add-ons in her kitchen somewhere, and then I tasted the stuff for sugar and…

Well, it sucked. I must've pressed the wrong button on the fancy coffee machine, or _something_, because what I had wasn't a latte. It was brown sludge that burned my throat on the way down and kept burning all the way to my stomach.

I started going through the kitchen cupboards hoping to find something to salvage it. Maybe enough caramel would make it taste the same as Sam's girly drinks.

I couldn't find any caramel (or cinnamon, or honey, or any of Sam's kind of stuff), but I did find the bill from Jodie's visit to Rita's Diner – she'd dropped it on the counter and it had wormed its way behind the toaster and stayed there.

I glanced at it idly.

Then I stared at it.

Mint and hazelnut latte?

But Sam _hated _mint in his coffee. It was something I always yanked his chain about, how he drank lattes that had caramel and cinnamon and fruit and whipped cream and everything except actual _coffee_, but gagged at the very idea of mint.

Since when did Sam like mint in his coffee? Was that something _else _that Jodie now knew about him better than I did?

That was the last straw. I dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, completely frustrated.

I hadn't thought – I mean, it wasn't too much to ask, was it? I wasn't being unreasonable. All I wanted was to be able to give my brother something he liked because he was a nice kid. Not even anything fancy. Just coffee or salad or a freaking _book_. And the universe was out to thwart me.

"Dean!" I heard Sam's voice from the doorway. Awesome, now he'd be pissed at me for not waking him to get me my meds. "Dean, what the hell?"

"Not now, Sammy," I said. "Bitch at me later."

"Dean?" All annoyance was gone in a second; the kid sounded so gentle and concerned that it made me want to hug him. "Are you OK? What's wrong?" His hand was on my shoulder. "Dean, talk to me."

Well, it wasn't like I had anything to lose at that point.

Fifteen minutes later, I'd somehow wound up with my head resting on Sam's ribs. His shirt was damp – the kitchen was warm and he must've been sweating. The kid always sweats a lot.

Sam's hand was in my hair, warm and comforting.

"So… Let me get this straight. You're upset because you couldn't figure out how to use the coffee machine?" He pulled away from me long enough to grab the cup off the table. "It can't be that bad, Dean." He took a sip. He schooled his face very quickly, I had to give him that, but I didn't miss the grimace that flashed across it for a fraction of a second. "It's fine, Dean. Seriously. Best coffee ever."

"Don't lie to me."

Sam laughed and put it down. "OK, yeah, it could be better. So what? Dude, why are you upset about _coffee_? I'll run out and get you some if that's what you want."

"_No_," I said in frustration. "I don't want a latte! I don't even _like _lattes!"

"Then what –"

"I wanted to make _you _a latte."

"But we're not…" Sam trailed off. "Dean, seriously, what's wrong? I mean – I appreciate the thought, I really do, but you're not yourself."

"Yes, I _am_!" I said in frustration. "I _am _myself, it's just that you – and everyone thinks – God, I thought I knew you, but apparently I don't know anything anymore and it's not like I haven't been trying but there was that stupid waitress and I don't even remember her _name_ but she knew about that cabbage crap and then it was _raining_ like the universe _hates _me and then you – you – you had _mint _in your coffee!"

"Dean?" Sam sounded puzzled. "I don't understand. Is it something about Purgatory? Does mint bother you now? I'll tell Jodie –"

"You hate mint! At least – at least last _I _knew you hated mint in your coffee and now…"

"Oh." Sam sounded like he understood, thank _God_, because I couldn't see myself explaining anymore. "Dean." He pulled a chair up and sat, so close that his knees were bumping mine. "Look, don't tell Sheriff Mills, but I _don't_ like mint in my coffee. I just… You know, the first time she brought it she was doing her best to cheer me up and I didn't want to tell her I didn't like it, so…" He shrugged.

I felt a little better knowing Sam's coffee habits hadn't actually altered in the time I'd been downstairs, but it didn't change everything else that had happened.

My brother, as usual, read my mind. "But that's not everything, is it?" he asked. "You're still upset. What else?"

"I got you a book." I reached out blindly and squeezed Sam's knee. "Yesterday. Present. I was going to give it to you, but… You know, Jodie got you that… that whole bunch of them. And they were new and shiny and…"

I trailed off.

A moment later, I felt Sam's head come down on my shoulder. It should have been annoying, but it made warmth bloom somewhere deep inside me. It had been so _long_ since Sam had let me be his big brother. My hands moved up automatically, one settling on Sam's back and the other in his (_still_) too-long hair.

"You're an idiot," he said, voice muffled in my shirt. "I want my book. And… And the only reason Sheriff Mills started bringing me lattes at all was that I was miserable without you and I told her you did it. She was trying to cheer me up." He wrapped his arms around me. "I like your present better."

"You haven't seen it yet."

"Don't have to. I know I do."

"You missed me, huh?"

"What do you _think_, Dean?"

"I think Jodie was taking pretty good care of you," I said honestly, poking Sam's side enough to make him squirm and pull back a little without moving away completely.

"If I promise never to let her take care of me again, will you stop moping?"

I couldn't help snickering at that. "No way, kiddo. I need people to take care of you when I can't." I poked him again, and he swatted half-heartedly at my hand. "I just need you to remember that _nobody _can do it better than me."

"You _do _realize I'm not a kid anymore?"

"You'll still be my little brother when you're ninety and I'm ninety-four. I'll protect you if bullies in the nursing home try to steal your walker."

Sam ducked his head, so I couldn't _see_ his smile, but I felt it.

"Hey, Sammy?"

"Hmmm?"

"You want to hit Rita's when we leave?"

The way Sam's breath caught was answer enough.

By the time Jodie came downstairs, we were settled on the couch and I was twenty pages into reading Sam _The Outsiders_.

* * *

Yeah, I know. Definitely not happening. But I hope you enjoyed it anyway. ;-) Tell me what you think!


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